


Custody extras

by Icalynn, Ischa



Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Dark Knight Rises (2012)
Genre: Art, Crossdressing, Gen, Halloween, Kid Fic, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-27
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-17 04:03:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/547410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Icalynn/pseuds/Icalynn, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ischa/pseuds/Ischa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Because my brain is set on coming up with a million things from this verse... and Icalynn  and omletlove are horrible people who encourage my brain to do it, there are now several short stories set in this verse.<br/>They are not needed to understand the main story, but I though maybe some of you would like to read them anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Halloween I.

**Author's Note:**

> Beta: mockingj91. <3  
> Warnings will be added as needed.

**Halloween I (age 13)**

John knows that Mr and Mrs Wayne used to have big parties for Halloween when Wayne was a kid, but that Wayne never followed that tradition. Last year it wasn't an option to ask for it, but John’s got a bit bolder over time.  
He takes a deep breath and enters the library.

“You wanted to talk to me?” Wayne asks. He is drinking again, but John isn't too bothered. Alfred isn't, so John isn't either. 

“Yeah, so I heard from a very good source that there were parties held for Halloween here. I was wondering if we could do that?” 

“You want to celebrate Halloween?” Wayne asks. 

“Yeah, I mean...” He shrugs. He does want to celebrate Halloween, and he wants to do it with all the kids from the orphanage, and maybe the other two in town too. God knows the manor is big enough for that. “If it's not too expensive?” 

“Money doesn't-” Wayne stops like he just realised he sounds like a too rich jerk. “The money isn't a problem. I just didn't think you would, because last year-”

“Yeah, but I didn't think I would stay. Last year, that is,” John admits and doesn't look at Wayne. 

“Oh,” Wayne says. 

Yeah, John thinks. “So?” 

“Yes,” Wayne says, and John looks at him. “Do you have any plans and ideas?” 

“I don't know-”

“John.” 

“I would like to make it a thing for the kids of the orphanage.” 

“John,” Wayne says and it's soft and kind of fragile, and John has no idea what it means. 

“It doesn't have to be. I mean, you can call all your friends, because this is your house-”

“No, John. This is your idea, and you should sit with Alfred, and work out the details. You can have whatever you want – within reason.” 

John takes a deep breath. “I was thinking, maybe all the orphanages?” John asks tentatively. 

“Yes,” Wayne answers with a smile and John realises he's _proud_. It makes his insides feel warm. 

“I'm going to tell Alfred now,” he says. 

“You do that.” 

~+~  
John is glad he has Alfred, and that Alfred knows what to do, because John had no idea about the dimensions of such an event. 

“Should I invite some of Wayne's friends?” John asks. 

“I don't know. Maybe the parents of your classmates,” Alfred answers. 

“Oh, yeah. But won't they spoil our fun?” 

Alfred laughs. “We can set them apart in a separate room?” 

“Oh, yeah. We do have enough.”

“We do,” Alfred answers. He is writing down names, because John has horrible penmanship. “What would you like to eat?” 

“Cake,” John answers. “Lots of sweets and candy and ice-cream.” It's not only because he is a thirteen year old boy, but also because the kids in the orphanages don't get much of that. Especially not the really good stuff. People are trying, but in the end there are things that are more important than candy.  
Alfred writes it down and underlines it three times. John smiles. 

“I think we can figure something out. Mr and Mrs Wayne used to make small packages with candy and gifts to take home with for their guests. Do you think-”

“Yes!” John says immediately. That is a great idea. “Will Wayne be okay with this? I mean it is a lot of money.” 

“It's for a good cause, John.” 

“Yes, it is.” 

“I don't mean the other children, John,” Alfred says softly. 

“Okay,” John replies, swallowing hard. 

“So, back to the list then.” 

“Yeah.” 

~+~  
“Are you sure about that?” Andy asks. He's sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet dangling slightly to the music. 

“Yeah.” 

“You know, he is not a hero anymore.” 

“I don't believe all the bullshit the papers are writing about him.” 

“I know, but a lot of people do.” 

John thinks Andy is way too clever for a twelve-year old. He sighs. “The good thing is this is my party-” 

“And you can cry if you want to,” Andy giggles. 

“Funny,” John grins. “But no. It means that no one will insult my costume.” 

“To your face.” 

John shrugs. “That is all that matters anyway.” 

“What about the parents?” 

“I am not concerned. Alfred isn't either.” 

“Alfred is in on it. I shouldn't be surprised. What about Wayne?” Andy asks. 

John bites his lip. He didn't tell Wayne, because he has suspicions about who Batman is. So... “No, it's a surprise.” 

“I bet,” Andy answers. 

~+~  
All in all the party is a success and John knows it's all to Alfred's superhuman skills. There are kids everywhere and John only knows a handful, but it doesn't matter. There are bats and skeletons and lanterns and candy in bowls and John thinks it's the most awesome thing ever.  
For the very first time John has the feeling that this house is alive, even if symbols of death are lurking everywhere. John has no idea where Alfred got the sarcophagus or Andy's favourite band, but he is not going to ask for the details. Maybe tomorrow.  
Tonight he is Batman and Andy is the singer of his favourite band and John will laugh so hard when they take the stage. So hard. 

~+~  
“I will murder you!” Andy hisses just before he nearly faints. 

John can't stop laughing for five minutes and then he just leaves Andy with the band and makes the rounds or whatever. Stealing cakes and candy and dancing to pop-songs Andy would scoff over any other night. 

~+~  
He finds Wayne in the library chatting with a pretty woman and is about to get lost when Wayne sees him for the first time that night. He just stops talking and stares and the woman follows his gaze a second later and her faces changes. 

“That is-” she starts. 

“Batman,” Wayne interrupts, or finishes, or something. 

“Yeah, do you like it?” John asks. 

“How can a parent let their kid walk around like that?” the woman asks. 

John only looks at Wayne. He isn't sure if Wayne knows it's him, but he thinks he does know.  
“Most of these children don't have parents,” John gives back, but he is still only looking at Wayne. 

“I like it,” Wayne says. 

“Bruce! Don't encourage him.” 

“Lady,” John says leaning against the door. “He can do whatever the hell he wants. Not that I need any encouraging from you Wayne,” he grins. 

“Kid,” the woman says with emphasis, “it's Mister Wayne.” 

Wayne laughs. “He never calls me Mister.” 

The woman looks between them and at John again. “Bruce-”

“Did you want something John?” 

“I saved you one of the German cinnamon things you like so much,” John answers. 

“How very thoughtful of you.” 

“You know me,” John shrugs. 

“I do,” Wayne answers smiling, and then to the woman, “Excuse me. There are baked goods with my name on in the kitchen.” He doesn't even wait for the woman to overcome her shock. John suppresses a laugh.


	2. Interlude: Wayne 'The lost years'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and probably only piece written from Bruce's pov.

**~Interlude: Wayne~**

**~One~**  
“Here is another letter for you. Alfred,” Bruce says and hands it over. 

“They're addressed to the manor. Not only me, Master Bruce,” Alfred answers. It's the first time he says anything at all about Bruce not reading a single one of John's letters. And it's been years. Bruce can't really believe it.   
Years.   
And not a single word from John. Not even a picture.   
He supposes it's his own fault for letting John go in the first place. But it was better that way. He knows it had been better. It had been the reasonable thing to do. John had been so young back then and Bruce had been messed up. He is still messed up. He has no idea what he was even doing back then. Why he had given in. Why he had touched John in the first place, except that John had wanted it, had asked for it and John never really asked for things.   
Only for things he really wanted.   
Like the fencing lessons.   
Like staying with Andy.   
Like the fact that he liked Bruce to be home more often. Bruce was more often home now. He was home all the freaking time.   
He had tried to maintain a life in the public eye, but after John was gone, well, it didn't seem necessary anymore to pretend.   
Or maybe, Bruce thinks, maybe he didn't have a reason anymore to pretend.   
He had liked and even felt a connection to John from the first day.   
And he had then fallen for John, like John had for him. Maybe because John had fallen for him, and that was all kinds of fucked up.   
And Bruce knows that. 

“I don't want to read it,” he says after too long a pause. It's a lie. And he is pretty sure Alfred knows it. 

“Very well, Master Bruce,” Alfred replies and takes the letter back to the kitchen. “Do you want me to make you some dinner?” 

“No, thank you.” Bruce isn't hungry. Not anymore. Every time a letter from Korea arrives, Bruce thinks briefly about opening it and reading every single word, and re-read it a million times until the paper is worn thin with how often he had touched it.   
It's dangerous behaviour. Bruce can acknowledge that. He knows himself pretty well. 

“Master Bruce-” 

“That will be all, Alfred,” he cuts in, and he knows it's a dick-move, but can't help it. 

~+~  
Sometimes when he is alone in the manor he goes to the kitchen under the pretence to make tea or coffee, (most often tea, the kind John liked without acknowledging it), and looks at the postcards pinned with magnets to the fridge. He runs his fingers over the surface and plays with the idea of turning them around and reading whatever John has written on them to let them know he is still alive and well.   
When he traces the newest his gaze falls upon a photograph. And Bruce nearly takes a step back, but then leans forward instead to study it. It's John and he looks the same, but different too. Bruce hasn't seen him for nearly two years. He's grown into himself he thinks. And he looks happy. There is a girl in the picture beside him. No, he thinks, as he looks closer, it's not a girl at all.   
Bruce didn't think about with whom John could maybe be happy, form a relationship with (he didn't think John would at all to be honest, he had been always so careful around other people, always holding himself back, except with Andy, Alfred, and himself), but he didn't think it would be a cross-dressing, gender-queer Korean boy. Shows how much I know, Bruce thinks, running a finger over the photograph.   
Something deep inside him aches. He isn't sure if he just misses John, who never was his child, or if he is jealous, or if it's something else, something tangled and ugly. He doesn't like to think about it. He doesn't like to be that person envying someone else's happiness.   
But if he's honest, he envied Rachel hers too.   
He is not a good person.   
Deep down he isn't. He tries, but that is all he can really do. 

~+~  
The library is closed off and he never opens the door anymore. He is thinking about removing the door and putting a wall up. So he won't ever be tempted to go inside again.   
There is a half-finished game of chess and a book with the page marked, and the couch, the couch John was arching into his touch on. The couch that made Bruce lose it all, and surrender to John's whispered pleas to touch him. To kiss him. To fuck him.   
Now Bruce is glad he didn't go that far. There wouldn't have been a way back from that for him and John. Bruce is sure.   
In his weaker moments he wonders how it would've been to be the first to make John come undone by being inside him any possible way he could.   
He feels guilty for entertaining these thoughts.   
It's really just a viscous circle. 

 

**~Two~**  
When Eggert came back from Europe, the first time for his brother's wedding, Bruce was secretly hoping John would come back too. That these months away would be enough to calm his temper. That they would be sufficient to make his point.   
The truth is he knew it wouldn't be that simple. John had always been stubborn and he was out there right now to carve out a life for himself.   
Eggert Senior had mentioned that his son said John was some kind of model over there. For underwear. There was judgement in Eggert Senior's voice. Bruce wanted to snap at him, but opted for just not commenting on it instead. It wasn't Eggert Senior's business what John did with his life. It wasn't Bruce's either it seemed, but Bruce still had a hard time letting it go. 

~+~  
He had been half-tempted. He is still half-tempted to hunt those magazines down and just look, but somehow it would feel too much like porn. Bruce knows it would.   
So he doesn't. He tries not to think about John at all. How he is doing in Korea. Who he is with. If he is still practising chess and fencing. Probably not.   
Bruce isn't either.   
He can't blame John for – well, he thinks, he can't blame John for anything really. John had been a kid and Bruce should have known better than to give in to temptation. No matter how much John had wanted it, no matter how much _Bruce_ had wanted it.   
Especially that.   
He wonders if Alfred would still be so sympathetic if he'd knew what Bruce had done with John. To John.   
Alfred would probably quit his job and leave Bruce to fend for himself.   
And Bruce would be alone. Truly alone. 

~+~  
“Master Bruce,” Alfred says setting down the tray with breakfast on the bedside table. Bruce doesn't even want to get up. He got drunk last night in the bad part of town and got his ass kicked. He didn't really put up a fight either.   
It had been punishment for thinking about John that morning. For thinking about John arching into his hand and how his voice sounded and how his body looked laid out for Bruce to take. For thinking all this and touching himself while doing it. 

“Thank you Alfred,” he mumbles into the pillow. 

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, and he sounds disproving and worried. That is the worst tone, Bruce thinks. “You need to stop doing this.”

But I deserve it he thinks, and doesn't tell Alfred. “I have no idea what you're talking about.” 

Alfred sighs. “Maybe you should call him. Reach out to him. It is possible, Master Bruce that he won't come back. He has a-”

“I don't want to know,” Bruce says too sharply. He feels like a dick when he does that to Alfred, because Alfred raised him, Alfred loved him when no one else could, or would even try. But it had always been a defence mechanism to play the employer. 

“Very well,” Alfred answers and leaves.   
Ah blissful silence, Bruce thinks. But that is a lie too. 

 

**~Three~**  
Bruce wishes on some days that he never set foot into that orphanage. That he never saw John trembling with suppressed anger and god only knows what else.   
He remembers John staring right back at him. Like he knew Bruce. Like he could read all the secrets Bruce stored away in a deep dark box inside of him right from his soul. When he thinks back to that day, that fleeting moment, he can believe that John did know actually. That it was all over Bruce's face for anyone to see, to read; for those who knew how to look anyway.   
It's not a blessing to know these things.

~+~  
On most days he is glad he let John go. He can rationalize it. He lost Rachel because he loved her, but Batman can't love people. Can't have anyone around him who could be used against him. He lost Rachel because he loved her.   
It's a simple truth. One sitting so deep inside his bones that it became a part of him. 

“Or maybe you lost Miss Rachel, Master Bruce, because you were Batman.” 

Bruce looks at Alfred and pours some coffee for himself. “And if that is true, it's for the best that John isn't here.” 

“But you aren't Batman anymore, Master Bruce,” Alfred answers. He sounds very reasonable doing it too, even if he is currently making sandwiches for god only knows whom, because Bruce doesn't feel like eating at all.   
And that is where Alfred is wrong, Bruce thinks, contemplating that statement. He has no illusions about himself. When his parents died that was when Bruce died too, and Batman was born. Most people just don't get it. Or maybe, Bruce thinks, maybe Alfred just refuses to acknowledge what he already knows. It would be like Alfred to try and hold on to hope with tooth and nail. 

~+~  
Then there are the days Bruce thinks it was the worst decision he could have made to not go after John. Bruce misses John. He misses the snappy answers, the chess-days, the weird books turning up in the library that John claimed as his own at a very young age. He misses John's friends too. The laugher and the shoes in the corridors and entrance hall.   
He misses John's sleepy face in the morning, mumbling a 'morning' at them before he had the first cup of tea with at least three spoons of sugar. He misses the lazy Saturday breakfasts and conversations.   
Sometimes he misses the hitch in John's voice when he said 'Bruce' with so much need it hurt to listen to it.   
Bruce has no idea if anyone has ever wanted him like that. Like he was the only person who could make him whole. Maybe Rachel at the beginning when she didn't know. But even Rachel got over that. She moved on, and when she wanted to come back she was killed and Dent- Bruce takes a deep breath. He is not going down that train of thought again.   
There is nothing he can do about this. Nothing at all.   
A persistent voice at the back of his head reminds him that he could do something about John not being here. He could talk to John over the phone. Instead of eavesdropping on Alfred's conversations with him. He is not proud of it, but sometimes the urge to hear John's voice is stronger than any morals. John never asks about him. Bruce doesn't wonder what that means. If he were in John's place, which he is somehow, he wouldn't ask Alfred about him either. Bruce _doesn't_ ask about John. He doesn't track him down either. He keeps his distance so John can figure out what kind of person he wants to be without Bruce in the picture.   
But at the end of the day, no matter how many good reasons he puts out there – lined up on a shelf – the fact remains that he misses John like he hasn’t missed anyone else in a long, long time.   
Bruce realised, when John had been gone for only three weeks, that John understood- understands Bruce like no other person he knows.   
Something inside John recognizes the dark, broken parts of Bruce and reaches out to them without hesitation. It's a minor miracle that John sees them at all. Even if Bruce didn't do a bang up job of hiding behind his Bruce Wayne mask at his own home. Still, Bruce thinks, no twelve-year old should have been able to see that.   
John did.   
John does.   
And Bruce is man enough to admit that he needs someone who _sees_ him.   
He doesn't want to, but he is still hoping that John will come back one day.   
That John will forgive Bruce for being an asshole. Even if Bruce had been an asshole with the best intentions.


	3. Halloween II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because I love Ma-ku a lot and some of you do too, have another Halloween story.

**Halloween II. (age 18)**

“There is a party,” she says. 

“Hmm?” 

“With costumes?” she answers, snatching the book right from his hand before he knows what's happening. 

John looks up at her. “Wait. Is this a Halloween party? Because I thought it's an American thing. The Halloween thing.” 

She rolls her eyes. “It's fun, and people like to have fun and this is an excuse to have fun in costumes.” 

“When you say it like that it sounds pretty kinky,” John jokes. She looks away, and he grabs her hand. “Hey, I didn't say no. I just... I'm surprised is all.” 

“We don't have to go if you don't want to.” 

“I want to go. So dressing up. Any ideas?” he asks, kissing her palm. She lets him pull her close and into his lap. 

“Yeah. I do have one.” 

“I am not surprised.” 

“I'm thinking Bonnie and Clyde.” 

“Excellent.” 

~+~  
Well when she said Bonnie and Clyde, he didn't think that he would be the one wearing the wig and skirt. 

“At least she was wearing sensible shoes,” John says. 

“Sh. Hold still and close your eyes,” Ma-ku answers. She still isn't dressed because John so obviously needs help with his make-up. It's strange to let her put it on. He likes the way she is so sure about it, though. Precise and fast. Practised. “Okay, you can look now.” 

He doesn't look bad, but he can't rock a skirt like Ma-ku. “It looks good,” he says and it does. To his surprise. 

“Faye Dunaway has nothing on you,” Ma-ku answers, and he laughs. 

~+~  
John can't look away from her. She is wearing a suit and it looks so damn good John wants to eat her. Steal her away and have his wicked way with her.   
She is talking to some girls that obviously don't know her and that she's with John, because they're trying to chat her up. John suppresses a grin.   
He had been afraid this would be a bad idea, but it isn't. He has fun, actually. 

“She looks good,” Yun says. 

John nods, taking the cigarette Yun is offering. “She does.” 

“And all the girls want a piece of her.” 

“They don't know,” John replies. 

“No, they don't. She is a pretty convincing guy.” 

“She is convincing in whatever role,” John says. Yun and he aren't friends exactly, but they get along, and he and Ma-ku have so much history – it's hard to cut that all out. John should know. 

“I didn't mean-”

“I know,” John cuts in. He does know that Yun didn't mean anything by it. Sometimes he just feels so freaking protective of her and it's stupid, because she can have him on his back in minutes. 

“I like when she's wearing suits,” Yun says. 

“Yeah,” John answers. He can totally see the appeal. 

~+~  
“Let's go home,” she whispers and it sounds different, deeper. She is a guy now. At least for tonight and it makes John's stomach tighten in anticipation. 

“Enough of breaking young girls' hearts?” John teases, grabbing her around the middle and pulling her close. 

She runs a knuckle over his cheek, smiling. “They have nothing on you.” 

“Sweet-talker, you. You could get a girl in trouble.” 

“You,” she breathes, running a finger over his arm and then leaning closer, so he can feel her breath on his lips. “You want so obviously to get into trouble.”   
God, John really, really does, so he closes the space between their lips. 

~+~  
It's strange and exciting to let her take the lead, not that John is thinking in gender-roles on a day to day basis, but he and Ma-ku are like any other couple, he thinks. And John is, well, the one with the pants on. Usually that is.   
She doesn't even look like a girl, doesn't sound like one, doesn't behave like one. She is confident and masculine in a way that makes John shiver and want to surrender to whatever the hell she would want to do to him.   
He lets her push him on the bed and run her hands up his stocking clad legs, sensitive and smooth like they are now, under his skirt and he bites back a moan.   
She kisses him then and it's all her. He knows her mouth like the back of his hand. He knows every groan and the way her lips curve into a smile. 

“Is this okay?” she whispers, and he wants to answer her, but he kisses her instead and nods and lets her take off his clothes.   
She's slow about unbuttoning his shirt, parting the fabric and kissing his collarbone and then down. John holds on to the headboard, straining into her touch.   
She has no problem holding him down, keeping his hips in place as she kisses around his briefs and the garter-belt.   
“You are so wet for me,” she whispers and he is. It should be embarrassing, but it really isn't. He is turned on like every time they do this.   
He makes a noise that is maybe her name and she looks up.   
“John? I want to-”

“Yes,” he says and he has no real idea to what he is agreeing, but he trusts her to not do anything he can't handle. 

“Okay,” she answers and doesn't ask if he's sure. John thinks it tells volumes about how they work.   
She kisses his stomach and then the tip of his cock through the briefs before she gets rid of them with John's help and her mouth is on him again.   
John wants to watch, but he can't, the second her mouth makes contact with his dick he closes his eyes and grabs the headboard harder as she swallows him down. 

~+~

When they fall into the bed, after he gets her off with his fingers and kisses her until he's sure he's going to pass out, he's a mess. A tired, happy mess and so is she. 

“I'm glad we went to this party,” John says, kissing her shoulder. 

“Madonna will kill me...” she says with a look at the wig. 

“Tell her how grateful I am-”

“I won't tell her we had sex while you were wearing it,” she interrupts. 

“Tell her then I lost it while drunk.” 

“You want to keep it?” she asks, painting senseless patterns on his chest where the bra left a few marks. 

“Yeah...” 

“Yeah? You like dressing up?” 

“It has its appeal,” John answers and she pushes him lightly, laughing into his skin.


	4. Ma-ku (unfinished)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I usually don't do art for my own stories, but whatever. Maybe this will be my first multimedia fic...  
> pencil on paper

**Ma-ku (age 23) as seen by Andy Denver, unfinished**


	5. Interlude II: Maku 'The test'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Belongs in the 'light' verse.  
> This is my first co-written finished and posted story. \o/ I hope you guys enjoy what Icalynn and I came up with (mostly her, I just played around with it here and there).  
> Beta by the lovely mockingj91.

**Interlude II: Maku 'The test'**

Ma-ku’s not paying attention as she turns the corner, and it’s only when she’s halfway down the corridor that she realizes that she went the wrong way. She glances around and determines that she has not had a chance to explore this wing of the manor yet, and it’s not like she’s busy. John is down at the police station doing god -only -knows -what, leaving her free to do as she pleases.

She runs her fingers over the dark, rich paneling. It reminds her of the home she grew up in, but that seems like a lifetime ago, when she had been forced to play by her father’s rules and be the boy she was never meant to be. Ma-ku shakes her head, pushing those thoughts away. It’s best to leave them in the past where they belong. 

She wanders down another corridor, admiring the artwork adorning the walls and wonders if these had inspired Andy. Chances are they did, but then Andy has always been a genius with a pen if you can believe what John says and you usually can. He’s a no nonsense type of guy and she loves him more for it. 

She pauses when she hears a noise, and then intrigued: she follows not realizing anyone is using this part of the manor since sheets drape over most of the furniture in a ghostly tribute. She stops, standing in the doorway to what appears to be a large gymnasium and she wishes she knew about it before. Ma-ku has to squint into the darkness to see Wayne going through the movements of a routine that she is very familiar with. It takes her breath away and she finds herself staring at him in awe. 

“It’s not polite to stare.” 

She feels her cheeks flush at being caught, but this is the first time that they have shared something that isn’t centered on John and she is eager to explore this common bond further. “You have good form, but you’re a little rusty.” 

Wayne pauses, raising a brow in amusement, a small smile playing at his lips. “Is that so?”

“Better than John,” she toes off her platform shoes and shimmies her pencil skirt up her thighs. “That’s something, at least.” But with all the training at the academy and them playing around, John is getting a lot better too. Still, she thinks fondly, he wasn't trained by ninjas.

She can feel the heat of his gaze follow the silky fabric and travel over her bare legs, there’s an intensity about him that reminds her of John. It’s intoxicating and she has to admit it excites her to think of John and Wayne together… the three of them. Limbs entwined, not knowing where one begins and the other ends. A trinity of sorts. She gives him a demure smile and pulls the skirt up even higher, teasing him. She knows she has to bridge the gap between these stubborn men. 

She steps onto the mat and takes the traditional pose. Wayne looks impressed and he matches the counter pose. “It appears you’ve had some training.” 

“Some,” she shrugs with one shoulder. Ma-ku takes the first strike and he blocks it with ease. They exchange a few moves, sizing each other up. She rolls her eyes. “Please, I’m not made of glass.”

He grunts, finally giving into his full strength and they really spar. A few grueling minutes in, she realizes there’s something wrong with his knee and she uses it as an advantage. Her heart races and her breathing hitches, her whole body is flushed with adrenaline and she goes in for the final blow and takes him down on the mat. 

Her body presses against his, their chests heaving with exertion and she can feel his arousal trapped between their bodies. It matches hers. Instead of pulling away as she should, she leans in closer, her lips against the curve of his ear. “The League has trained you well.” 

Wayne inhales sharply as his hands settle on her hips. “The League?” His voice raises in question, but she knows that his denial is a weak attempt of pretending he doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Maybe he wants to draw her out that way. Maybe he’s had second thoughts about her motives. She cannot blame him. It is a risk to give away any information of being in any way associated with the League. At least these days. The League of Shadows had stood for something good, once upon a time. She had expected him to deny it; it’s one of the first things you learn as a student after all.

She pulls back, slowly rocking her hips against his. “You know.” Her gaze locks with his and there’s no denying it. They were both trained by the League of Shadows and they will be forever linked with the knowledge that they swore to protect.

“Does John know?” 

Ma-ku runs her hands over his chest. “It’s my past and John is my present. And it's not like I am running around in a cape at night.” She smiles, rocking her hips once more against his in an agonizing tease for both of them. “Our future.” She makes it sound like a statement, but in reality it's more of a question. She knows John had been in love with Wayne, is still in love with Wayne, but Wayne is a bit of a wild card. Still, she thinks, she has pretty fucking good instincts. 

Wayne parts his lips as if to deny it, but she knows the underlying truth. “You’re good for him,” he says instead. 

“He’s good for you,” she counters and she brushes a kiss to his lip, their breath mingling and she aches to deepen it and explore everything about him. Ma-ku can feel the hitch in his breathing, the grip on her hips tighten as he arches up. His body reacting to hers, and she wonders how long it has been since he wanted someone for real. She closes her eyes, savoring the heat of his body and forces herself to pull away. It feels wrong for them to be doing this without John. 

She flips back into the first position and smirks at him. “Again.” 

Wayne nods, following her move and they go through another routine a little more challenging than the last. It feels amazing to be able to do this again and it gives her an excuse to be near him, to touch him, to feel the heat of his body plastered against hers. John’s words echo in her mind and they feel even more true…she’s falling for him.

They only stop when Alfred enters the gym a moment later. “Master Bruce, I’m sorry to interrupt but you have a call.” Alfred begins, turning his attention to her. “Miss Ma-ku, it’s nice to see someone give him a challenge.”

Ma-ku grins, “My pleasure.”

Wayne snorts, heading to the towel rack and tossing her a towel. She catches it and dabs at her brow as he does the same with his own. “I’ll take the call in the study, Alfred.” 

“Very well, sir. Is there anything else you need?” 

Wayne shakes his head and he looks to her, he seems hesitant to say anything and maybe it’s for the best. 

“Alfred, is there any of that tea cake left?” She asks, giving Wayne the out he needs. 

Alfred’s eyes crinkle in amusement and nods. “I believe so.” 

“I’m famished,” she pushes her skirt back down and she slips her shoes on. “Next time, I’m not going easy on you.” She winks at Wayne and he laughs. It sounds good and she hopes that she will hear it more often.

“Next time.” Wayne confirms before heading out of the gym. Her heart skips a beat and she finds herself looking forward to their next session. 

She turns to Alfred, “Would you care to join me for some tea and cake?”

“I’d love to, Miss Ma-ku.” 

She smiles, following Alfred to the kitchen her thoughts remaining in the gym with Wayne and the future. She brushes her fingers over her lips and she knows that she needs to speak to John about the possibility.


	6. Interlude III: Maku 'The cave'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set in the 'light' verse.

**Interlude III: Ma-ku 'The cave'**

She hangs up on John and then just stares for a few endless moments at the phone. This could be the last time she talked to him for – she doesn't even know how long. 

“Miss Ma-ku?” Alfred asks. 

“I'm fine.” She isn’t. Obviously. She is not and it's a big fat lie. Wayne is gone, Batman is gone, John is gone. She is alone. She and Alfred have to make it until – she has no idea, until this is over. 

“John said we should pack some stuff-”

“Right,” she says. “Right, everything we can. We'll need candles, blankets, food, water, books...”

“Books?” Alfred asks with a smile. 

“Books. I am sure you will tire of my company soon enough, Alfred,” she answers. 

“Never, Miss Ma-ku.” 

“We can't stay here, can we?” 

“There are tunnels under the manor and-” he hesitates for a second or two before he finishes with, “a cave.” 

“A cave?” 

“Yes,” Alfred answers. 

~+~  
“With bats,” she says. She can hear the awe in her own voice. 

“Yes, Miss Ma-ku, with bats.” 

“It's a bat-cave,” she whispers and only then she gets the full freaking implication of that. “Bruce Wayne is Batman.” 

“Well,” Alfred answers. “He used to be the Batman. I am not sure what he is now.” 

Dead maybe, she thinks, but doesn't say it, because Alfred still has hope and she does too and John. John is fucking made of hope.  
And John knew all the time. He had to know. And he didn't say a fucking word.  
She had a feeling that there was more to Wayne that meets the (fleeting) eye, but this...well. It makes sense in the grand scheme of things.  
“We have water and electricity,” she says. 

“Yes, we can drink it when it's cooked. I have no idea how long the electricity will stay on. But there is a generator that runs with oil.” 

“We do have oil, right?” 

“Upstairs. We should get it soon. And then we just barricade the house as best as we can and stay down here until it's safe to leave.” 

“We need all the books, Alfred,” she answers. 

~+~  
The cave is damp. Damp everywhere and dark, even with the lights they have on. Alfred is good company but as the days are growing darker and getting colder they keep away from each other or huddle for warmth.  
It's like being the last two people in the world and Ma-ku misses John so fucking much. She cries for two hours straight when she sees the news-footage of the dead cops hanging from the bridge. She can't do anything here and it drives her crazy.  
Alfred produces a Snickers from somewhere that evening and she doesn't even offer to share it with him. She sleeps curled around him that night too.  
They don't talk about it the next day. 

~+~  
She is done exploring the cave the first month in. And then she goes over to explore all the cool toys in the cave. Not that she can take them out for a ride or anything, but it's something to do that isn't reading or washing clothes in the cold water.  
She stumbles over the suit by accident. Alfred is out cold and she has nothing better to do.  
It's the freaking bat-suit. She just can't help herself. She reaches out and touches it carefully like it's a living breathing thing. And then when she's done with it and touching isn't enough she takes the mask on puts it on. It's a bit of fumbling with her too long hair, but when she's done, it's a nearly perfect fit. 

“Miss Ma-ku!” Alfred says and she has nearly a freaking heart attack. 

“Jesus, Alfred.” 

“Please put it back where you got it from. It's not for playing around with,” he says sternly. 

She feels like a scolded little girl under his gaze. She takes the mask off carefully and puts it back into the case.  
“I wasn't playing,” she says and doesn't add that she had been bored out of her mind. She doesn't think that would go over well. “I always wondered,” she says as she closes the glass case, running her fingers over it. “Why bats?” 

“Because they frighten him and he wants his enemies to feel the same fear.” 

She smiles. It makes perfect fucking sense to her too. There is nothing more poetic than to become what you fear the most and own it, be comfortable in its skin. She can empathize.  
“They do,” she says softly. 

“I don't think Bane does, Miss Ma-ku,” Alfred answers.  
She doesn't know what to answer him. 

~+~  
By the time they hear from John, after more than five months, she is ready to kill someone. She's thin and feels as if she's so close to coming apart at the seams. 

“I'm coming home,” he says and she sinks down and breathes for five minutes straight and he listens to her do it on the of the side of the line.  
She doesn't know how he found a phone that works, or where or what he had to do so he could use it. She doesn't care. 

“You never told me your warden was Batman. Do you have a secret identity too?” 

“It never came up? And no. I'm just John,” he answers.  
Just John, she thinks. My ass.


End file.
